Walpurgis-Night.

The Hartz Mountains. Neighborhood of Schirke and Elend.

Faust and Mephistopheles.

Mephistopheles. Would you not like a broomstick to bestride? Would God I had a stout old goat to ride! The way is long; and I would rather spare me This uphill work.

Faust. While my good legs can bear me, This knotted stick will serve my end. What boots it to cut short the way? Through the long labyrinth of vales to wend, These rugged mountain-steeps to climb, And hear the gushing waters’ ceaseless chime, No better seasoning on my wish to-day Could wait, to make the Brocken banquet prime! The Spring is waving in the birchen bower, And ev’n the pine begins to feel its power; Shall we alone be strangers to its sway?

Mephistopheles. No whiff I feel that hath a smell of May; I am most wintry cold in every limb; I’d sooner track my road o’er frost and snow. How sadly mounts the imperfect moon!—so dim Shines forth its red disk, with belated glow, We run the risk, at every step, on stones Or stumps of crazy trees, to break our bones. You must allow me to request the aid Of a Will-o-the-Wisp;—I see one right ahead, And in the bog it blazes merrily. Holla! my good friend! dare I be so free? Two travellers here stand much in need of thee; Why should’st thou waste thy flickering flame in vain? Pray be so good as light us up the hill!

Will-o-the-Wisp. Out of respect to you, I will restrain, If possible, my ever-shifting will; But all our natural genius, and our skill Is zigzag; straight lines go against the grain.

Mephistopheles. Ha! ha! hast learned from men how to declaim? March on, I tell thee, in the Devil’s name! Else will I blow thy flickering life-spark out.

Will-o-the-Wisp. You are the master of the house, no doubt, And therefore I obey you cheerfully. Only remember! ’tis the first of May, The Brocken is as mad as mad can be; And when an ignis fatuus leads the way, You have yourselves to blame, if you should stray.

Faust, Mephistopheles, and Will-o-the-Wisp. [in reciprocal song] Through the realms of fairy dreaming, Through the air with magic teeming, Guide us forward, guide us fairly, Thanks to thee be rendered rarely; Guide us quick, and guide us sure, O’er the wide waste Brocken moor.

Trees on trees thick massed before us Flit, and fling dark shadows o’er us, Cliffs on cliffs in rugged masses Nod above the narrow passes, And each rock from jagged nose, How it snorts, and how it blows!

Over turf and stones are pouring Stream and streamlet, wildly roaring; Is it rustling? is it singing? Love’s sweet plaint with gentle winging! Voices of those days, the dearest, When our light of hope was clearest! And the echo, like the sounds Of ancient story, back rebounds.

Oohoo! Shoohoo! what a riot! Owl and pewit, jay and piet! Will no bird to-night be quiet? What is this? red salamanders, With long legs and swoll’n paunches, Weaving wreathy fire-meanders Through the thicket’s bristling branches! And the trees, their roots outspreading From the sand and rocky bedding, Winding, stretching, twisting grimly, Through the dun air darting dimly Seek to seize us, seek to grasp us, And with snaky coils enclasp us! And the mice in motley muster, Red and white, and blue and grey, Thick as bees that hang in cluster, Crowd along the heathy way. And the fire-flies shooting lightly Through the weirdly winding glade, With bewildering escort, brightly Lead the streaming cavalcade!

But tell me, in this strange confusion, What is real, what delusion? Do we walk with forward faces, Or stand and halt with baffled paces? All things seem to change their places, Rocks and trees to make grimaces, And the lights in witchy row, Twinkle more and more they blow!

Mephistopheles. Hold me tightly by the cue! From this hillock, we may view, At leisure, with admiring gaze, How Mammon in the mount doth blaze!

Faust. How strangely through the glooming glens Dim sheen, like morning redness, glimmers! Ev’n to the darkest, deepest dens With its long streaky rays it shimmers. Here mounts the smoke, there rolls the steam, There flames through the white vapors gleam, Here like a thread along the mountain It creeps; there gushes in a fountain! Here stretching out, in many a rood, Along the vale, its veinèd flood, And here at once it checks its flight, And bursts in globes of studded light. There sparks are showering on the ground, Like golden sand besprinkled round, And lo! where all the rocky height, From head to foot is bathed in light!

Mephistopheles. Hath not old Mammon lit with goodly flame His palace for the jubilee? Thou art in luck to see the game; Even now I scent the lusty company.

Faust. How the mad storm doth howl and hiss And beats my neck with angry buffeting!

Mephistopheles. To the old mountain’s hard ribs cling, Or the strong blast will hurl thee down the abyss; The night with clouds is overcast; Hear in the woods the grinding of the blast! How the frightened owlets flit! How the massive pillars split Of the dark pine-palaces! How the branches creak and break! How the riven stems are groaning! How the gaping roots are moaning! In terrible confusion all, One on another clashing, they fall, And through the clefts, where their wrecks are buried, Hissing and howling the winds are hurried. Sounds of voices dost thou hear? Voices far, and voices near? And, all the mountain-side along, Streams a raving wizard song.

Witches. [in chorus] The witches to the Brocken ride, The stubble is yellow, the corn is green; A merry crew to a merry scene, And good Sir Urian is the guide. Over stock and stone we float, Wrinkled hag and rank old goat.

A Voice. Old mother Baubo comes up now, Alone, and riding on a sow.

Chorus. Honor to him to whom honor is due! Lady Baubo heads the crew! On the back of a sow, with the wings of the wind, And all the host of witches behind.

A Voice. Sister, which way came you?

A Voice. By Ilsenstein! and I looked into An owlet’s nest, as on I fared, That with its two eyes broadly stared!

A Voice. The deuce! at what a devil’s pace You go; this march is not a race.

A Voice. It tore me, it flayed me! These red wounds it made me!

Witches. [in chorus] The road is broad, the road is long, Why crowd you so on one another? Scrapes the besom, pricks the prong, Chokes the child, and bursts the mother.

Wizards. [semi-chorus] We trail us on, like very snails, The women fly with flaunting sails; For, when we run Squire Satan’s races, They always win by a thousand paces.

Semi-Chorus. Not quite so bad: the women need A thousand paces to help their speed; But let them speed what most they can, With one spring comes up the man.

Voice. [from above] Come up! come up from the lake with me.

Voices. [from below] Right gladly would we mount with thee; We wash, and wash, and cease from washing never; Our skins are as white as white can be, But we are as dry and barren as ever.

Both Choruses. The wind is hushed, the stars take flight, The sullen moon hath veiled her light, The magic choir from whizzing wings, Long lines of sparkling glory flings.

Voice. [from below] Stop, stop!

Voice. [from above] Who bawls so loud from the cleft?

Voice. [from below] Let me go with you! let me not be left! Three hundred years I grope and grope Round the base and up the slope, But still the summit cheats my hope. I fain would be a merry guest At Satan’s banquet with the rest.

Both Choruses. On broomstick, and on lusty goat, On pitchfork, and on stick, we float; And he, to-day who cannot soar, Is a lost man for evermore.

Half-Witch. [below] I hobble on behind them all, The others scarcely hear my call! I find no rest at home: and here, I limp on lamely in the rear.

Chorus of Witches. The ointment gives our sinews might, For us each rag is sail enough, We find a ship in every trough; Whoso will fly must fly to-night.

Both Choruses. While we upon the summit ride, Be yours to sweep along the side; Up and down, and far and wide, On the left, and on the right, Witch and wizard massed together, Scour the moor and sweep the heather, Bravely on Walpurgis-night!

[They alight.

Mephistopheles. What a thronging, and jolting, and rolling, and rattling! What a whizzing, and whirling, and jostling, and battling! What a sparkling, and blazing, and stinking, and burning! And witches that all topsy-turvy are turning!— Hold fast by me, or I shall lose you quite, Where are you?

Faust. [at a distance] Here!

Mephistopheles. What! so far in the rear! Why then ’tis time that I should use my right, As master of the house to-night. Make way! Squire Voland comes, sweet mob, make way! Here, Doctor, hold by me!—and now, I say, We must cut clear Of this wild hubbub, while we may; Even my cloth is puzzled here. See’st thou that light on yonder mound quite near, It hath a most peculiar glare, We’ll slip in there, And watch behind the bush the humors of the Fair.

Faust. Strange son of contradiction!—may’st even guide us! A rare conceit! of course you must be right; This weary way we march on famed Walpurgis night, Like hermits in a corner here to hide us!

Mephistopheles. Lo! where the flames mount up with bickering glee; In sooth it is a goodly company. In such a place one cannot be alone.

Faust. And yet a place I’d rather own Upon the top, where whirling smoke I see; There thousands to the evil Spirit hie, And many a riddle there he will untie.

Mephistopheles. Yes: and for every knot he disentangles, He’ll make another to produce new wrangles. Let the great world rant and riot, We’ll know to house us here in quiet; In the great world ’tis a sanctioned plan, Each makes a little world the best he can. Look there; you see young witches without cover, And old ones prudently veiled over; Yield but to me, and I can promise thee, With little labor, mickle glee. I hear their noisy instruments begin! Confound their scraping!—one must bear the din. Come, come! what must be must be—let’s go in! With my good introduction on this night, Thou shalt have laughter to thy heart’s delight. What say’st thou, friend? this is no common show, A hundred lights are burning in a row, You scarce may see the end; They dance, they talk, they cook, they drink, they court; Now tell me, saw you ever better sport?

Faust. Say, in what character do you intend To appear here, and introduce your friend? Devil or conjurer?

Mephistopheles. I love incognito, Yet on a gala-day my order I may show; And, though a garter here is but of small avail, The famous horse’s foot I ne’er yet knew to fail. See even now that cautious creeping snail! With her long feeling visage, she Has smelt out something of hell in me. Do what I can, they have a snout, In this keen air to scent me out; Come! come; from fire to fire we roam; the game Be mine to start, and yours to woo the dame. [To some who are sitting round a glimmering coal-fire.] Why mope you here, old sirs, toasting your toes? Methinks your Brocken hours were better spent Amid the youthful roar and merriment; One is enough alone at home, God knows.

General. Who would rely upon the faith of nations! They leave you thankless, when their work is done; The people, like the women, pour libations Only in honor of the rising sun.

Minister. The liberties these modern changes bring, I must confess I cannot praise; The good old times, when we were everything, These were the truly golden days.

Parvenu. We, too, pushed forward with the pushing crew, And for the need could stretch a point or two; But now all’s changed; and with the whirling bucket, We lose the fruit, just when our hand would pluck it.

Author. No solid work now suits the reading nation, And year by year the world more shallow grows; And, for the glib-tongued rising generation, They hang their wisdom on their up-turned nose!

Mephistopheles. [Who all at once appears very old] The people here seem ripe for Doom’s day; I Suspect the world is now on its last legs; And, since mine own good cask is running dry, Men and their ways, I guess, are near the dregs!

Peddler-Witch. Good sirs, I pray you pass not by, Cast on my wares a friendly eye! One cannot see such rich display Of curious trinkets every day. Yet is there nothing in my store (Which far all other stores excels), That hath not done some mischief sore To earth, and all on earth that dwells; No dagger by which blood hath not been shed, No cup from which, through sound and healthy life, Corroding fiery juice hath not been spread, No gaud but hath seduced some lovely wife, No sword that hath not made a truce miscarry, Or stabbed behind the back its adversary.

Mephistopheles. Good lady cousin! you come rather late. Your wares, believe me, are quite out of date; Deal in the new and newest; that Our palate smacks; all else is flat.

Faust. This is a fair that beats the Leipzig hollow! My head is so confused, I scarce can follow.

Mephistopheles. To the top the stream is rushing, And we are pushed, when we think we are pushing.

Faust. Who, then, is that?

Mephistopheles. Look at her well. ’Tis Lilith.

Faust. Who?

Mephistopheles. Adam’s first wife. Beware, Art thou a wise man, of her glossy hair! ’Tis fair to look on, but its look is fell. Those locks with which she outshines all the train, When she hath bound a young man with that chain, She’ll hold him fast; he’ll scarce come back again.

Faust. There sit an old and young one on the sward; They seem to have been dancing somewhat hard.

Mephistopheles. O! once begun, they’ll go on like the devil. Come, come! they rise again—let’s join the revel.

[Faust and Mephistopheles join the dance; the former with the Young Witch as his partner; the latter with the Old one.

Faust. [dancing with the young Witch] A lovely dream once came to me, I saw in my sleep an apple-tree; Two lovely apples on it did shine; I clomb the pole to make them mine.

The Young Witch. For apples your sire in Paradise And primal dame had longing eyes: And, if your eyes are wise to see, You’ll find such apples on my tree.

Mephistopheles. [dancing with the old Witch] An ugly dream once came to me, I dreamed I saw a cloven tree; In the tree there sat an ugly owl; I called it fair, though it was foul.

The Old Witch. My best salute this night shall be, Thou knight of the cloven foot, to thee; A cloven tree with an ugly owl, And I for thee, or fair, or foul.

Proctophantasmist. [to the dancers] Listen to order, you presumptuous brood! Have we not proved beyond disputing, That ghosts on terra firma have no footing? And yet you dance like any flesh and blood?

The Young Witch. [dancing] What wants he here, that rude-like fellow there?

Faust. [dancing] O, he is everywhere! What others dance ’tis his to prize; Each step he cannot criticise Had as well not been made. But in the dance It grieves him most when we advance. If we would wheel still round and round in a ring, As he is fond to do in his old mill, He would not take it half so ill; Especially if you take care to bring Your praiseful offering to his master skill.

Proctophantasmist. What! still there, phantoms? this is past endurance! In this enlightened age you have the assurance To show your face and play your tricks undaunted; We are so wise, and yet a man’s own house is haunted. How long have I not swept the cobwebs of delusion, And still the world remains in the same wild confusion!

The Young Witch. Be quiet then, and seek some other place!

Proctophantasmist. I tell you, Spirits, in your face, This intellectual thrall I cannot bear it; I love to have a free unshackled spirit. [The dance goes on.] To-day I see that all my strength is spent in vain; I’ve had a tour, at least, to compensate my evils, And hope, before I come to Blocksberg back again, To crush, with one good stroke, the poets and the devils.

Mephistopheles. He will now go, and, bare of breeches, Sit in a pool with solemn patience; And, when his buttocks are well sucked by leeches, Be cured of ghosts and ghostly inspirations. [To Faust, who has just left the dance.] Why do you let the lovely damsel go, That in the dance with sweet song pleased you so?

Faust. Alas! while she so passing sweet was singing, I saw a red mouse from her mouth outspringing.

Mephistopheles. Pooh! on the Brocken that’s a thing of course; Let not such trifles mar your sweet discourse. Go, join the crew, and dance away; Enough, the red mouse was not gray.

Faust. Then saw I—

Mephistopheles. What?

Faust. Mephisto, see’st thou there A pale yet lovely girl, in lonely distance fare? From place to place she moveth slow; With shackled feet she seems to go; I must confess, she has a cast Of Margaret, when I saw her last.

Mephistopheles. Let that alone! it brings thee certain harm; It is bewitched, a bloodless, breathless form, For men to look upon it is not good. Its fixèd gaze hath power to freeze the blood, And petrify thee stark and stiff. Of course I need not ask you if You’ve heard of the Medusa’s head.

Faust. In truth I see the eyes of one that’s dead, On which no closing hand of love was laid. That is my Margaret’s kindly breast, That the sweet body I caressed.

Mephistopheles. There lies the witchcraft o’t, thou fool! A phantom takes thy wit to school: She is the love of every lover’s brain.

Faust. What ecstasy! and yet what pain! I cannot leave it for my life. How strangely this most lovely neck A single streak of red doth deck, No broader than the back o’ a knife!

Mephistopheles. Quite right! I see it, just as well as you. Sometimes her head beneath her elbow too She wears; for Perseus cut it off, you know. What! will you still a-dreaming go? Come, let us mount the hillock—there We shall have noble sport, believe me; For, unless mine eyes deceive me, They have got up a theatre. What make you here?

A Servant. You are just come in time. ’Tis a new piece, the last of all the seven, For such the number that with us is given. A dilettante ’twas that wrote the rhyme, And dilettanti are the actors too. Excuse me, sirs,—no disrespect to you, If I seem curt: I am the dilettante To draw the curtain; and our time is scanty.

Mephistopheles. Just so; I only wish you were so clever To know your home; Then from the Blocksberg you would never Have lust to roam!